From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

Tonight will mark the end of one year and the beginning of a new one. 2011 will be ushered in, fresh and expectant while 2010 will be carried out, feeble and worn. It's strange, the need for the passing of time to be marked, by the hour, by the day, by the year..... Even if we never knew what a Wednesday was, the days would still pass. If we'd never known that today was the end of the year, we would never have been surprised or amazed at its passing. This is also the time to mark other new beginnings--- the resolutions each person makes with themselves, whether spoken or unspoken, are laid out at the threshold of the new year (with every honest intention of carrying them through). For some, they want to lose weight or lose a bad habit, like smoking... For others, they want to gain something-- a promotion, a fat savings account.... Whether you want to lose something or add something, just the idea that you have taken the time to decide on something to change about yourse

In the inevitable struggle between parents and children--- between what the children know they want and what the parents know they need---between what the children deem worthy and what the parents deem unsafe--- there never has been, and never will be, a clear winner. Christmas has always been a time of magic and miracles---especially for children. Their small lives revolve around what is happening immediately around them and what is happening immediately to them. So, something as magical as an unknown man bringing presents to their house while they sleep, only serves to convince these youngsters that miracles, do indeed, exist. Who wouldn't want someone to grant their innermost heart's desire? And, does it really matter if we know that someone? Does it really matter if anyone else gets what they want for Christmas, so long as we get what we want? The split between the unbridled avarice and the true meaning of Christmas isn't easily argued between adults and children. T

I've placed in my first contest..... I've received my first prize-money check.....I've had my first interview...... and all of this from one small, 741-word flash fiction piece, Charon's Lament. Had I known when I was writing and re-writing what I thought I would never be able to shave down below the 750-word max---that the piece and contest I almost gave up on---would land a 2nd place win, and on-line publication, I might have cursed my wordy sentences and my befuddled brain a little less. There was a point, somewhere in the middle of one of those sleepless nights where I almost said, to hell with it. I almost tore my red-inked pages to shreds, almost slammed my laptop shut caring not to save whatever I had just typed, almost flopped back onto my bed--relishing the sour mood of defeat, which would have been far easier to endure. Almost. Almost. What it was that kept me going, I don't know if I'll ever know. It certainly wasn't confidence in my writ

Today my identity as a writer/author was confirmed and validated. Knowing that the actual writing is what defines a writer is easy enough to say, but it is immensely more difficult to believe. I have been a writer since I was eleven years old because I have actually written since I was eleven years old. But, until today, I have never FELT like a writer. Today, though, I received my prize money from the WOW! Women on Writing! contest in which my story placed 2nd. Today, I can call myself a writer. It's horrible to think that it takes a piece of paper with my name on it to assure me that I am, in fact, a writer. It's not enough that I have composed hundreds of poems, that I've written half a dozen novels, that I've created dozens of characters and given those characters names and lives of their own. It's not enough that I bleed ink from my veins. I must have a single slip of paper---with writing on it that I did not compose myself---to give myself the name o

Once again, I have come out of NaNoWrimo triumphant! Triumphant, that is, as far as word count goes. Year 4 found me completing my entry in a Baton Rouge hotel room. But, exactly what it is that I completed, I have not, as yet, figured out. I squeaked out a 50,023-word victory on Nov. 29th. I had hoped to be finished long before then, but life--as it always does--had other plans. But, I did finish....though what I'm left with is FAR from complete. "Tangle of Matter Ghost" had started as a tragic Victorian-ghost love-story, with a not-so-subtle nod to Gothic Lit....that was my intent anyway. Buuuuuuut..... somewhere along the way, about 5 or 10 thousand words into it, the story suddenly became a Civil War novel, centering on Voodoo, the horrors of war and what can happen if you take more than you can pay for....and what can happen if you take magic and you can not pay for that either. So, I have some 15 characters, 137 pages of mixed plot-lines, which is inter